


Ribbing

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [31]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Secrets, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-08
Updated: 2007-10-08
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks he knows it all.  He's very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ribbing

**Author's Note:**

> The Joanna mentioned is Michael's mother from "Something Wicked".

Considering he's known his brother all his life and most of Dean's, there's plenty of times that Sam would've—and has—said he knows all there is to know about Dean.

Thing is, Dean seems to take a perverse glee in proving just how wrong Sam is about that.

Of course, the look on Dean's face when Sam catches him is pretty damn priceless.

Sam blinks. He's still kind of light-headed and endorphin-high from his run and at first he thinks it's some kind of bizarre hallucination brought on by an overdose of exercise. He gulps in a deep breath, wipes the sweat out of his eyes, and blinks again. Harder.

This time Dean's hands are empty, but his expression says Sam wasn't imagining anything, Dean's just trying to cover his ass.

"Dude." Sam tries to frame a sentence around the giant question mark in his head. It's not working, the words aren't flowing together. Sam gathers them up, flings them out and hopes they'll make sense. "Were you just… Were you _knitting_?"

"No!" Dean's answer is too prompt, his outrage a little too over the top. There's a knitting needle jutting up from the chair next to his leg.

Sam leans against the doorjamb, still huffing and his abs aching. He considers his brother for several moments. "Is this where your sudden need for all this 'alone time' is coming from?"

"Don't make air quotes, it makes you look like an ass. Wait. No. That's the stupid hair. But don't make air quotes anyway."

"Don't change the subject. So…you're _knitting_ now?"

"Quit saying it like that." Dean squirms. "And what did you think I was doing?"

"I thought you were masturbating!"

It's Dean's turn to blink. "Wow. I don't know whether to feel proud you think I have that much stamina or to smack you over the head for being such a fucking idiot."

"So when you told me that ball of yarn was Chelsea's for some school project."

Color heats up Dean's face and his eyes flicker aside. "Um. Yeah. Okay, that may not have been the whole story…"

"So…"

Dean sighs. "I lied, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I lied. And I reiterate my point about you being an idiot."

Sam scratches through his hair. Sweat's starting to dry, turning itchy. "When did this start? Hell, _why_ did this start?"

"Plenty of men knit, Sam," Dean says, almost primly. "Don't be so sexist."

"I'm not being sexist, I'm being astonished. There's a difference. It never occurred to me to count Dean Winchester in the _vast numbers_ of men who knit."

"Quit yelling at me!"

"I'm not yelling!" Sam is totally yelling. He clears his throat and pitches his tone lower. "Okay, I'm yelling. Sorry. I just…why couldn't you tell me about this? You'll let me think that you're jerking yourself blind, but you won't let me know you knit?"

Dean shrugs, blush deepening. "Joanna and Mike said it might help."

"Help with what?"

Dean sighs deeply and waves his hands at Sam. "I'm missing part of a finger, in case you forgot. Joanna said it could help with my dexterity, learning to knit. So…" Dean looks down, picking invisible lint off the knee of his jeans. His words trail off into a mumble.

Sam crosses the room to Dean's chair, knees creaking tiredly and in protest when he kneels. "What's that?"

"So I can play guitar again," Dean says, over-enunciating every word and his glare daring Sam to say something smart in reply.

"Oh." Sam's thumbs start up their own unconscious rhythm on Dean's knees, tracing the muscle beneath the worn to death denim. "Is it hard?"

The light that goes on in Dean's eyes is like the one he gets when they get the latest edition of _Guns and Ammo_ or when he works on the Impala. "Nah, not really. There's only two kinds of stitches, you know and everything depends on how you combine them. I'm working on a moss stitch right now and…" He pulls the bundle of needles, yarn and swatch of knitted up cloth out and spreads it out for Sam to see it, explaining the whole time about knits and purls and Continental method verus American. "…and they got a really great angora and they only had four balls of it and that's hardly anything to work with unless you're doing something small, but it was so nice and it's real soft, see? Touch it. And I totally snagged it and…"

Sam settles back on his heels and let Dean run on, nodding at the right places and oohing and ahing when appropriate.

Yeah. Sometimes, even now, Dean can really surprise him. Sam just never thought he'd be grateful for it.


End file.
